


Fixer, Face, Floater

by merryghoul



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Gen, Guns, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryghoul/pseuds/merryghoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiona has to distract Michael to save one of her gunrunning contacts, so she enlists Pearce and Madeline to help her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixer, Face, Floater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/gifts).



> Dear Missy,
> 
> I apologize for not including a Pearce/Jesse romance, but I still hope you like this story.
> 
> ***
> 
> Set after Nate's death in Season 6, but before the events of "Unchained."

Pearce was greeted by Michael's P30 when he opened the door to his loft.

"Do you do this to everyone that knocks on your door?" Pearce asked.  To Michael's surprise, she was wearing a black dress instead of the business suits she wore in the Miami CIA offices. 

"No.  It's only for people that don't call in advance."

"You must get an earful from your mother when she does that."

"She doesn't usually do that."

"Anyway, I'm here to see Fiona."

"What do you want with Fi?"

"I need her for official CIA business."

"No, no.  Pearce, we agreed..." His mouth was ajar.

"Sorry, Michael, but I need a female partner for this job.  Unless you're willing to dress the part, but I don't think you can look convincing enough.  And I'm not even going to ask Sam or Jesse."

Michael frowned.  "Will you make sure she's safe?"

"Michael, Fiona can handle herself."

 "She's upstairs right now.  I'll tell her you're here."

"Can I wait by the kitchen?"

"Sure.  But don't touch the yogurt in the fridge.  It's mine."

As soon as Pearce made her way inside the loft, Michael's cell phone rang.

_"Michael?"_

"Mom, how are you?"

_"I'm having company later tonight for a poker game."_

"That's great, Ma."

_"But I need you to fix the poker table.  I can't get it to stay open."_

"You can't put duct tape on it?"

_"I'm trying to impress my guests, not have them think I'm cheap."_

Michael awkwardly smiled.  "I'm coming over." He hung up. "Where's Fiona going?" he said to Pearce.

"We're trying to infiltrate a racket on South Beach.  There's a club owner who claims to be looking for hostesses.  He's really looking for female conmen to rip off tourists.  We're auditioning now so we can bust him later."

"Are you sure she's going to be safe?"

Fiona glared at Michael from the stairs.

 

The racket was the most plausible thing Pearce could come up with to get Fiona out of the loft.

Earlier, when Michael had left the loft for food, Fiona got a call.

"Hello."  She was bored and thinking the person on the other end was Michael.

_"Fiona, why are there feds trying to raid my storage unit?"_

"Massismo, I swear to God I don't know what's happening."

_"They said an Irwin Smith of the CIA has permission to search my things because of intel from a Fiona Glenanne."_

"I haven't told the CIA anything."

_"That's not what I'm hearing.  They said you squealed while you were at Allarod."_

Fiona's mind went back to when Card made her a CIA asset in exchange for her release.  _Fuck,_ she thought.

"I'll be there in an hour."

Usually if Fiona promised to be somewhere, she'd be there in minutes.  But there were a few problems.  One, she was being watched by Michael, who was still convinced he'd lose her if she got involved with investigating Nate's death.  If he wasn't in the loft, he made sure to come by every hour to see if she was okay, much to her protests and chagrin.  Two, she didn't have a car, since Sam and Jesse had taken the cars she would've usually driven. 

She did have one tool at her disposal: her cell phone.  She decided to call Pearce.

"Hello, Pearce?"

_"Fiona?"_

"Is Michael with you?"

_"No."_

"Can you come by the loft?  I have an emergency, and if it's not fixed, then Michael's going to have to look for his own damn guns from now on."

_"What do you want me to say to him?"_

"I don't know.  Card made me sign this contract making me an official CIA asset.  Maybe you can bring that up.  That might be enough to convince him to let me go.  And to make sure he doesn't go after me, I'll call Madeline and see if she can distract him."

_"That might just work, Fiona."_

"And one more thing.  Let me drive."

_"Got it."_

In Pearce's car, Fiona told Pearce about her CIA asset contract.

"The only other person that knows I have a SIM card with certain unsavory contacts is Tom Card."

"Card's an honest man," Pearce said.  "He wouldn't give out information on your contacts.  Someone must've hacked your phone and downloaded the contacts while Card wasn't looking."

"This Irving Smith guy."

"I've never heard of him.  He must be new or from Washington or something."

"Whoever he is, he's stealing from my clients.  And he's a weasel."

"We have to hurry."

"Pearce, I thought you knew me better than that."

Fiona slammed the gas pedal. 

 

At a marina just north of South Beach proper, Fiona and Pearce looked at the CIA attempt to raid Massimo's storage facility from across the street.

"These CIA imposters have a moving truck," Fiona said.  "And I bet they don't have the right to confiscate those guns."

"What are we going to do?"

"The easiest thing to do would be to unscrew the fuel tank under the truck.  I might smell like gasoline for a while, but it'll keep them from running off with the guns and me without a client.  But I can't crawl under the truck without being noticed."

"And that's where I come in."

"Of course.  I'll hide in the back seat while you pull up and scare the hell out of the imposters."

Fiona crawled to the back seat while Pearce slid to the driver's seat.  Once both women were in place, Pearce drove to the storage facility.

When she arrived where Massimo and the CIA men were gathered, Pearce stepped out of her car and slammed the door as loud as she could. 

"Are you authorized to seize these guns?"

The men froze in place and stared at her. 

"Are you authorized to seize these guns?"  Pearce pulled out her CIA badge.  "My name is Dani Pierce, and I'm a CIA agent.  Don't let the dress fool you."

Pearce questioned the CIA men and Massimo, stalling them as much as possible.

Meanwhile, Fiona quietly slipped out of Pearce's car.  From there, she slid under the truck, moving under it using her elbows.  Once she saw the cap to the fuel tank, she reached up and unscrewed the fuel tank cap.  Unfortunately, as Fiona predicted, some of the gas splashed onto her clothes.

Fiona gave a breathless sigh.  "That was my second favorite dress, too," she whispered as she moved away from the gas tank.

Pearce, the CIA men and Massimo argued with each other until Massimo saw the gas leaking from the moving truck.  Massimo proceeded to curse the men out in Spanish as they scrambled to unload what they had taken from the storage container. 

Pearce walked back to her car and walked around it, making sure Fiona was in the back seat.  When Pearce saw Fiona, she sat in the driver's seat and went to the spot where the two were observing the storage facility from afar.

The first thing Pearce did was roll the windows down.

"Well, you did it," Pearce said as the two swapped places in the car again.

"Was there any doubt?"

"No, I meant you actually smell like gasoline."

 

Going to Madeline's, despite Fiona's smell of gasoline, was Fiona's idea.  "You know Michael," she said to Pearce.  "When he's worried, he stays worried for a while.  And he tends to be _very_ unpredictable."

"What are we going to say to him once we go inside?"

"A car broke down in the middle of South Beach, holding up traffic, and instead of meeting up with the Russian, we aborted the mission and helped the guy push his car off of Collins.  Easy."  Fiona took a breath and cleared her throat.  "Listen, Pearce, I owe you one."

"You don't owe me anything, Fiona."

"Oh, no, I insist.  You're a part of this family now."

"You mean Michael's team."

Fiona shrugged.  "Same thing.  And speaking of favors, I need to call Massimo."

Fiona called Massimo.

"Massimo, listen.  That woman at the storage container?  She's with me.  She's also CIA, so that should spook those fake CIA guys away from your container.  Oh, and I owe you a gun.  Give me a few days.  Or weeks.  I'm not sure." 

Fiona hung up the phone.

"Okay, let's go."

 

Madeline greeted Fiona and Pearce at the door. 

"Fiona, honey, what happened?"  Madeline's voice was low.

"I met a gas tank on the way to saving one of my contacts from some con men."

"The next time you need me to trick my son, would you call me a few weeks in advance?  I lucked out with the poker table.  I don't know what I can come up with next time."

"Thanks, Madeline," Fiona said.

"Would you like to come in and take a shower?  I think I have a spare robe you can throw away when you get back in the loft.  And then you can talk to Michael.  That's the only reason why you're here right now."

Pearce and Fiona nodded.  They walked inside Madeline's house. 

Michael didn't see Fiona and Pearce walk into the house because he was still working with the poker table.  But he did smell the gasoline.

"Ma, was that Fiona?"

Madeline looked at Michael.  "Why, yes."

"I'm glad she's safe."

"I'm glad, too."

"Now that I know she's okay, you, Fi and Pearce are going to explain to me _why_ Fi smells like gasoline."

"Michael, can't you wait until Fiona takes a shower?"

Michael smiled at Madeline.  "Sorry, Ma.  I can wait."

 

Card picked up a cell phone in his CIA office.

"Hello?"

_"We tried to get Mr. Garcia's weapons, but a CIA officer stopped us."_

"Really."

_"And then the gas tank leaked all over the storage facility.  We had to get the truck towed.  We're coming back to headquarters, sir."_

"Damn it."

Card hung up.  He didn't want to get more guns from South Carolina, but at the moment, having them sent down to Miami was the best he could do.


End file.
